Kingdom of Hearts
by Eienvine
Summary: Drabbles inspired by lines from the movie, examining the relationships between the characters.
1. 0:00:00 to 0:20:00

I started this fic a few months ago but decide to reformat it. There are so many moments in the show where someone would speak and I wanted to know the rest of the story: what they're thinking, what influenced that statement. So I decided to imagine it myself. I've been writing drabbles, each inspired by a line from the movie, and each about the relationship, romantic or otherwise, between two characters.

And to keep this from being a hundred chapters long, each chapter covers a 20-minute chunk of the movie and includes all the drabbles inspired in that time period. This first chapter is the first 20 minutes of the show.

. . . . . .

"Just give me some time."

She was a job. Every smile, every kiss, every touch—it was for his people, for a kingdom torn apart by his mother. It was pleasant—she was a beautiful girl—but it was an act. A means to an end. A job.

Or so he thought, until she stood before him in that dress, saying she couldn't go with him, that she needed time. And it was like a physical blow, like a cloud covering the sun, like the end of something beautiful. And he wondered when she'd become so much more than a job.

. . . . . .

"Just because Daddy left doesn't mean they all will."

You've told her this before; she didn't believe it then either, and you worry she'll never trust a man again.

It wasn't easy for you when he left, but you coped; you worried, you got angry, then you moved on. It's been harder for her. She feels he betrayed a sacred bond, and it's tough for her to believe others won't do the same. His leaving left you both abandoned and broken, and you're afraid she won't ever be whole again.

. . . . . .

"Where have you taken Jack?"

It doesn't occur to her, as she's yelling at the strange, white-haired man, that it's a bit odd to be ready to draw blood in order to find someone that five minutes ago she was quite certain she never wanted to see again. No, it makes perfect sense to her. She doesn't believe in love but she wants to, and that desire to fall deeply in love with someone—with Jack, who seems so thoroughly lovable . . . well, it's not a perfect motivation, but right now it's good enough for her.

. . . . . .


	2. 0:20:00 to 0:40:00

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. And to KittyLyn96, go right ahead. They're quite fun to do and I wouldn't want to rob anyone else of the chance. :)

Now we're to the second twenty-minute chunk; Alice and Hatter finally meet, which is a delight to write. I hope you enjoy.

. . . . . .

"A friend, I hope."

_No,_ she thinks, _a friend is someone you want to spend time with, someone you trust._ The gentleman looking at her, hat crammed down over flyaway hair, apartment carpeted in grass, doesn't quite fit the bill. She's not sure what she was expecting—a wise old man, someone in an official-looking uniform—but she knows she wasn't expecting a guy her own age, dressed like a lounge lizard with an affinity for eyeliner. She definitely wasn't expecting for him to eye her up and down, as though enjoying the sight of her wet dress. _A friend? Not likely._

. . . . . .

"How did you break out of the scarab?"

He'd thought it was going to be a boring day: tea, smuggling, the usual. And then suddenly this Oyster appears on his grass, branded and wet. And on top of that, this Oyster broke out of a scarab, something that's never happened. And on top of that, this Oyster is a very attractive girl.

And as she defiantly stares him down, he realizes the tea and smuggling will have to wait. She may not be Alice of legend, but he has the feeling she's about to make his day very interesting indeed.

. . . . . .

"Do I need a reason to help a pretty girl in a very wet dress?"

In later years she'll ask the real reason he helped her, and he won't know what to say. He'd thought it'd please the Resistance, but it was more than that. Hatter the saint was an act but so was Hatter the conman, and she'd awoken a caring instinct buried under his layers of disguise. He'd helped her because it was the right thing to do, because he'd wanted to make sure she was okay.

Also, it really was a very wet dress.

. . . . . .

"If I'm the frying pan, then that, out there, is the fire."

You've never hated that phrase as much as you do right now. You don't want the frying pan _or_ the fire. You want to be home, safe and sane, with the city on the ground and Jack walking into karate.

But that's not an option. You don't relish the idea of putting your faith in this man, but you don't have a choice; you can't even find your way around town, let alone save Jack. So you follow him out the door and pray you don't get burned.

. . . . . .

"Look at me."

It's hard to say who feels more out of place, Alice or Hatter, as they hesitantly reach for each other. He's not used to providing help of the hand-holding, soothing voice variety; most of his aid is monetary and clandestine. She's not accustomed to accepting help, especially from strangers, and more especially from men; asking for help feels like admitting weakness, and she hasn't done that since her dad left. But necessity and fear bring them together, and as their hands meet, they're both suddenly connecting to another person. It's a step forward for both of them.

. . . . . .

"Keeping the masses happy is a very great responsibility, and one that weighs heavy on my shoulders."

That's what he says, anyway. What he means, really, is that keeping the masses happy keeps the queen happy, and _that_ is the responsibility that weighs so heavy on his shoulders. In the great machine that the queen has created to rule Wonderland, he is only a tiny cog, but a cog that always runs smoothly. That's all that she'll give him, so he'll take it, and he'll do the best job that he possibly can, because that's all she'll accept from him.

. . . . . .

"We all have family somewhere."

He'd been standing dazedly in the casino, focused only on the dice, when the thought of a fair-haired woman touched the edge of his mind. Suddenly he could think of nothing but her—that cardigan she wore, her smile when she first held their son—and he unconsciously spoke her name: "Martha."

Of course that brought the men in suits, who locked him in a lobby. He doesn't know what's going to happen, but he keeps that memory, that name, locked inside him. They made him forget his family once; he doesn't want it to happen again.

. . . . . .

"Have you two not learned to trust me yet?"

There is, he's decided, no job more thankless than double agent. He supposes he can't blame Duck and Owl, who know perfectly well that he smiles to the Suits' faces as he stabs them in the back; someone like that could just as easily betray the Resistance.

But the fact is he's been in danger for years while they hide in the library. He doesn't do it for thanks, but he wouldn't mind getting one occasionally. And he can't help wishing that there was someone—anyone—who trusted him.

. . . . . .


	3. 0:40:00 to 1:00:00

. . . . . .

"Why am I not surprised?"

She assumed, as per usual, that it was his fault the ring wasn't in the box. It seemed like that was how it'd always been with them: him doing his best to please her, her assuming the worst of him. Years of marriage could be summed up by that moment: her glaring at him in disgust as he tried to fix things. In it was the dim echo of a million identical moments before. So as he found himself the target of her fury once again, he couldn't help wondering, "Why am I not surprised?"

. . . . . .

"I want my usual cut up front."

She could've kicked herself. He'd really had her going for a minute there, with his talk of sheltering refugees and feeding the Resistance and the way his eyes had held hers so steadily as he led her along the sidewalk. She'd let herself believe, just for a moment, that she'd found someone trustworthy, sanctuary in this crazy place.

But she'd been wrong—he was using her for his own gain. As she tried to keep the surprise and betrayal from showing on her face, she promised herself she would never trust Hatter again.

. . . . . .

"Just put the gun down!"

This is rather uncharacteristic behavior for Hatter, this bravery; as a double agent, he usually is more sneaky than bold, and he very rarely finds himself staring stoically down the barrel of a gun, taking bullets to chivalrously protect beautiful young women.

Maybe for the first time in his life he's being true to himself, showing the altruism that he's truly capable of but that he hides from the world.

Or maybe he's trying to impress the beautiful girl behind him.

Either way, he's learning that bravery is a good way to get yourself shot.

. . . . . .

"The queen reduced to mopping floors—it'll be just like old days."

Dodo was a creature of habit. If it'd been up to him, he would've lived all his life just as he always had: holed up in his estate with his garden and books. But then the queen had gone mad, leaving him trapped with the unwashed masses and criminals like Hatter. To him, that disruption of his life, more than anything else, was the queen's unforgivable sin. He looked forward to the day she was dethroned and he could watch her disgrace from the comfort of his own home.

. . . . . .

"Let me guess, you want your usual cut up front?"

He could've kicked himself. He'd had her trust for a moment and he blew it because he was so used to thinking of himself. In his two worlds—tea and the Resistance, equally cutthroat—working an angle was acceptable, even expected. He hadn't realized this girl, with her expressive eyes and determined face, would expect to find honor among thieves.

And the hurt in her face made him feel, for the first time in a long time, genuinely guilty, and he promised himself he would make her trust him again.

. . . . . .

"He's good as new!"

The Queen wasn't good with people; she may have created bottled emotions, but she struggled to make sense of them in real life. So it was no surprise she'd always felt drawn to Mad March. The usual labyrinth of human interactions was, for him, a straight line: if he hated someone (and he usually did), he let them know. In a world of intrigue where she constantly wondered who—including her husband and son—was secretly planning to stab her in the back, it was refreshing to always know where she stood with one sociopathic killer.

. . . . . .

"I'm the only one who can get him out of this mess."

She doesn't let herself analyze the fact that she's more fond of Jack right now than she was in her world. The truth is, it's because she can save him. She's been a fighter for years, channeling her defensiveness over her abandonment into karate, and she finds defending others makes her feel empowered. What she refuses to acknowledge is that having someone dependent on her makes her feel more secure around them. She'd never admit it, but Jack in distress is more compelling than Jack in real life.

. . . . . .

"In time, after much chocolate and cream cake, 'like' turns into 'what was his name again?'"

It worked after Carlotta, although now you can't help but think of her whenever you eat eclairs.

And it worked after Viola, although it was months before you fit into your favorite pants again.

And you downed hot chocolate with fiendish glee after Edith, whose severe milk allergies kept you off dairy for months . . . although now you can't even look at cocoa without feeling ill.

Come to think of it, maybe gorging on sweets isn't the best way to deal with a breakup.

. . . . . .

"You work with rats long enough and you turn into one, eh?"

Ratty wouldn't consider that an insult, if he had heard it. He's worked the gutters long enough to decide that rats are superior in some ways to humans. Rats are survivors. They have no pride, no silly honor. They do what must be done in order to survive, without worrying whether it's demeaning; they have no lofty causes they would sacrifice themselves for. So as the dangerous-looking men come toward him, Ratty realizes that his choices are to be a rat or a dead man. He chooses rat.

. . . . . .

"We?"

That was a word Hatter didn't use much. Sure, he joined both sides of the fight—even believed in the rebels' cause, if he was being honest—but the only war he was really fighting was Hatter against the world: a dreary, endless conflict that didn't allow him to form alliances or accept help.

But then everything turned upside down and suddenly he needed an alliance with this girl in his boat, and it was like a grammar lesson: you plus me equals us. And it was refreshing, in a way, to use that word sincerely for once: "we."

. . . . . .

"Go back with you. To your world."

She almost laughs at him, at the deeply misplaced familiarity in that statement—"go back _with you_," as though she's perfectly willing to lead the conman back to her world and unleash him on an unwitting populace.

But then her mind flashes to that moment in the library when he yelled for her to push the blue button, knowing full well that it meant her freedom and his capture. For that one moment, he was completely, heroically selfless. And now, because of her, he is hunted and homeless.

So, conflicted, she says nothing.

. . . . . .

"Wait, what is it? Tell me!"

Several thoughts flash through his mind: first, that it's kind of cute, the way she just clutched his arm, and second, that she really needs to stop questioning his every move and start trusting him, and third, that at least she thinks for herself and he can't help but find that an attractive trait, and fourth, that he rather wishes she'd grab his arm again. This girl is doing a number on his head, but despite the fact that he's now throwing himself at a Jabberwocky for her, he can't bring himself to mind.

. . . . . .


	4. 1:00:00 to 1:20:00

AN: Updated 1/11/12, with thanks to Alaina Downs, who kindly explained that Hatter's saying "Carlotta St. Delaware," which makes tons more sense than "Carlotta Sin Delaware" which is a ridiculous name unless you're a stripper but I swear that's all I could hear him saying (and I figured hey, maybe she really is a stripper). Anyway, thanks Alaina.

. . . . . .

"Vermin! Saboteurs! Anarchists!"

The world is full of degenerate bag heads. Outside the forest, people don't care about clever inventions, about glory of days gone by. And that is why he stays safe and sound in his dilapidated kingdom.

He finds this philosophy immensely comforting, so he always shuts out those thoughts—the ones that sneak in just before he falls asleep—that perhaps he stays hidden because he knows that if he leaves he'll have to explain how he survived, and that once he admits his cowardice, he'll realize that in truth, he's the degenerate bag head.

. . . . . .

"Alice? The Alice? THE Alice?"

Why does everyone keep doing that—assuming they know you? First Hatter tells you time and time again that you're thinking wrong, that you can't possibly want to go to the Hearts Casino, as though he knows you so well that he knows what's best for you. And now this crazy old man—and he's not the first person—thinks you're this legendary being, here to repeat some heroic act of old. More than ever you miss home, where both you and everyone in your life knows who you are.

. . . . . .

"It's the sacred ring, the Stone of Wonderland. Our ring."

There's no use for knights in this day and age. With the technological advances of recent years, with Wonderland's decay into a drug-addled stupor, a knight riding out on his charger, armed with sword and lance, would be as out of place as an Oyster in a tea shop.

Charles is resigned to this idea. But the sight of the ring on Alice's finger stirs something in him, and he remembers what he used to stand for. And suddenly there's a place for knights again: protecting Alice.

. . . . . .

"And you want to put your faith in him?"

For the most part, it's that the knight is so old and ridiculous. But deep down Hatter knows that it's also that he's been enjoying looking after Alice—getting her out of scrapes, guiding her through Wonderland. He doesn't often get to play the knight in shining armor.

And now here's an actual knight about to usurp his role, and Alice would rather follow him. Didn't Hatter get them away from the suits? At least momentarily? Suddenly that's not good enough for her. So much for Hatter the shining knight.

. . . . . .

"Their shadows are still warm."

The 10 of Clubs glances around uncomfortably. Is he the only person who finds that creepy? This whole day has been creepy, honestly. Working for the Queen means that sometimes you get your hands dirty and do things you'd prefer not to, but while he doesn't like it, he puts up with it. But this—Mad March was creepy when he was fully human, and the ceramic head doesn't help. The 10 fights back a shudder and wonders, not for the first time today, if this is really the direction he wants his career to take.

. . . . . .

"Why don't you just lean forward and put your arms around my waist, let my body take the weight?"

Cheesy? Yes. But it worked on Carlotta.

He's not much surprised, though, when it doesn't work on Alice. She's not like the girls he knows. She doesn't flirt or giggle. She can beat up a full-grown man—while she's wearing a dress and heeled boots—but she's terrified of heights. She guards her heart fiercely, but once a person gets into her affections, she'll do anything for them. Yes, Alice is a unique breed of woman. And Hatter likes unique.

. . . . . .

"I know a girl, Carlotta St. Delaware."

Somehow, the grin that follows rubs you the wrong way, and you're not sure why.

You're not jealous, certainly; you don't know Carlotta and you barely know Hatter.

Maybe it's that you two are in trouble and you think his mind should be on the situation, not some girl.

Yes, that's it. His mind should be on _you_.

Wait, obviously that's not what you're saying. You just want Hatter to focus on keeping you both safe. Not on you, and definitely not on some girl with the ridiculous name of Carlotta St. Delaware.

. . . . . .

"You? What happened to 'we'?"

That's unexpected: she sounds surprised, like she'd actually accepted the fact that you intended to go back with her. Well, bother. It's not like you were particularly keen to leave your homeland, but still, you definitely wouldn't have minded more time to get to know this fiery, pretty girl better. You mentally curse this sudden bout of loyalty that's keeping you in Wonderland, but it is what it is. On the other hand, it'll take a bit of time to get her back home. Maybe you'll have time to get to know her after all.

. . . . . .

"Didn't that Dodo guy say he was going to have you hunted down and killed?"

Trying to figure this guy out was like trying to watch a fast-paced raquetball game; his feelings and loyalties seemed to rocket all over the place with no rhyme or reason. Was he trying, in some way, to double-cross her again? She preferred to assume that was the case. The alternative—that he was actually a decent guy and was willing to put himself in danger to save the very people who wished him harm—was more than she wanted to consider just then.

. . . . . .

"I'm thinking if I turn up with the ring, he might forgive me."

Ah, there it was, the real reason behind his actions: he'd planned on double-crossing her. How did he keep doing that? She thought of herself as strong, smart; she didn't get conned easily. But somehow this man kept slipping past her defenses with his infectious grin and earnest eyes and the way his voice got soothingly low when he was being serious. Then when her defenses started to slip, he'd do something like this. Why was she so easily fooled by the men in her life?

. . . . . .

"Jack's a lucky guy."

And when Hatter says that he means because Alice has great legs and he's always liked dark hair, but he also means that he's astounded by her unfailing loyalty to Jack even now, after she's gotten a taste of how dangerous Wonderland can be. Hatter wonders if he's ever known anyone who would rush headlong into danger for him, and he wonders how she can hold such strong emotions inside herself and stay sane, and he wonders, as he watches her determined eyes, what it would be like to have such loyalty directed toward him.

. . . . . .

"We can argue about this tomorrow."

His words echoed in her head as she watched him sleep. He looked sweet and vulnerable, and she couldn't help but remember the way he'd taken a bullet for her, lost his shop for her, chased the Jabberwocky for her. Then her smile fell. It hadn't been for her, it had been for him—for money and then protection from the Resistance. Despite all he'd done, he didn't care about her, and he definitely didn't care about Jack. _No, Hatter,_ she thought as she walked away, _you and I don't have a tomorrow._

. . . . . .

"Where's Alice?"

You know, the moment you see the coat, that she's gone, and no prize for guessing where she's going. You call for a horse and you're not sure who you're more angry at—her for leaving or yourself for driving her away. And you're not sure who you're more concerned about—yourself losing the protection of the ring, or her going to the casino. The crazy girl doesn't know what she's up against and will certainly be killed.

Never mind, you know who you're more concerned about. Now where the devil is that horse?

. . . . . .


End file.
